


Drabbles of an Artisan

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anorexia, Body Worship, Cutting, Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Self-Harm, Speechless Rose, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first series of drabbles in the Homestuck universe, most of them non-SBurb AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Trusts You (John/Dave)

**Author's Note:**

> John loves Dave, and every little imperfection he has.  
> Even when he gives these little marks to himself.
> 
>  
> 
> A John/Dave drabble, TW Self-Harm.

He’s not perfect.

He’s scarred and too skinny and very pale, and sometimes you worry that if you hug him too hard you’re going to hurt him. He still gets nightmares sometimes and the fear in his eyes when you wake him up makes you want to protect him, hold him in your arms so nothing can hurt him anymore.

For a long time, he wouldn't take off the sunglasses you had given him. You didn't know why he wouldn't take them off. You’d never seen his eyes.

At seventeen, you told him you loved him. He told you he loved you back, with tears falling down his face. He finally took off his shades, nervous and shy. It was the first time you kissed him with that much passion, first time you’d taken him. You’d never seen red eyes burn with that much trust and love.

That’s what led you here. He’s lying on the bed underneath you, pale skin exposed and mottled with red lines; stretched tight across his skinny frame. It wasn't hard to figure out what those lines were. He’d picked up the habit when you two were still teens, and you never would have guessed it would be as addictive as it was.

So you did things like this. He trusted you to do things like this.

You start off slow as you always do, pressing chaste kisses to his lips and cheek and jaw. Silence stretches across the room as your kisses descend, laving his neck and shoulders with gentle presses of your lips to his skin. This continues down his arms and across his chest, down his impossibly long legs and to each fingertip. 

Each red line, bruise, and scar is kissed, these glancing touches lingering longer. The tip of your tongue flicked out against the angry red, soothing each split on his alabaster skin.

By the time you’re done kissing every available centimeter of his skin, he’s shaking with the release of tension held too tight for far too long. Tear tracks streak his face, leading up to the eyes you fell in love with two years ago.

When you move up to face him, he clings to you hard, more silent tears falling down his face as he murmurs apologies into your smooth skin. You run a reverent hand over his side, resting it at the middle of his thin waist. Soothing sounds slip from your throat, and his shivers die down. 

He’s not perfect, but you swear he’s perfect for you.

But he trusts you enough to let you tear him apart, trusts you to stitch him back together when he’s broken and can’t fix himself. He loves you, that’s all you can ask.  
He’s still too skinny, and you still worry you’ll hurt him, but you know that he’s trying; getting better for you. Your name is John Egbert, and Dave Strider trusts you.


	2. A Way with Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanaya tells Rose something, and she can't figure out how to reply.  
> Dave helps her figure it out.
> 
> Rose/Kanaya.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared as hell right now. Scared, terrified, petrified, vulnerable... All of those words that are different ways to say frightened out of your wits.

It’s late at night, you’re tired, and you’d be lying if you said you knew exactly what was making you so afraid. It was a good thing, right? But... She wasn’t responding. 

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you are absolutely horrified.

~~~

Your name is Rose Lalonde. You’re almost never at a loss for words, but this sudden turn of phrase has you floundering through your mental dictionary. She loves you.

She actually told you she loves you. In more words, yes, and in her own way, but she told you that she loved you. After two years together, a substance abuse problem on your part, and many issues with your interspecies relationship, she finally told you she loved you.

You were probably scaring her, making her think you didn’t love her back, but you couldn’t think of what to say! Your infinite knowledge of psychological terms and other various vocabulary words was doing you no good right now.

Words swirled around in your head, forming sentence upon sentence on how you felt about her, but none of them were quite right. They returned the feelings, but never said exactly how much you loved her, how much you need her and want her and crave her.

A sharp, frustrated smack to the keyboard leaves your hand hurting and a very confused Dave looking over your shoulder at the jade text on your screen.

“She finally said it?” A short nod. “You wanna say it back?” Another nod and a small smile. “Don’t know how?” An exasperated sigh and a nod, followed by you dropping your head in your hands and staring determinedly at the keyboard.

Which was suddenly no longer in front of you?

“Dave?” you quip, eyes snapping up to his sunglass-shaded ones. He shakes his head down at you, fingers poised over the keyboard.

“Tell me how you feel about her.” “Wh-“ “Just do it, Lalonde.”

“I love her. I love her with everything I have. She’s beautiful and wonderful and always knows exactly what I need to hear, when I need to hear it. When I need to shut up and stop thinking she’s always there to help me quiet my mind. If I’m having trouble I know I can go to her and she will always help me to the best of her ability. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and I never want to lose her. She’s sweet, and lovely, and I’ll never leave her. She’s all I could ever want, and all I’ll ever need.”

The words leave your mouth in a rush and your face is flushed red by the time you finish talking. You look back to the screen, and your words are up in the Pesterchum window. A quick flash of red eyes followed by a wink and a smile and your message is sent.

~~~

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you just read the sweetest paragraph, sent to you by the girl you’ve fallen helplessly in love with.

She always did have a way with words.


	3. January, February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave/John short; 500 words. Major Character Death, Suicide, Anorexia. Please heed triggers.

Porcelain perfect skin stretched over sharp angles and flat planes. If one looked closely, they might be able to see and count the ribs and vertebrae that laid just underneath the taut flesh. Pale ivory met pure, ebony black at the back of his neck. Long fingers and limbs, bits and pieces of his body that he'd yet to grow into. 

The skin could crinkle at the corners of his eyes, adding lines to an otherwise flawless complexion. His irises were b right blue and clear as day, even when sleep had just had it s arms around his soul. Little sounds could slip from the column of his neck as sleep cradled him as you often did. Although, you never thought he was as thin as he is. 

There was always the joke, the fun. "He weighs like, 100 pounds soaking wet," you'd joke. "Lighter than a feather," you'd joked. Even still, his skin was warm and often dusted with pink. Despite his wiry frame, he was cuddly. Little sister Jane referred to him as her teddy bear.

Things were a little different now, though.

Jane didn't understand. How could a little girl like her understand? She was barely four. She could hardly  say your middle name, for god's sake. How was she supposed to understand..?

She cried.

She cried for hours on end, she'd smacked her little hands against your chest and demanded that you bring him to see her. Like you could bring him. God, you wish you could. You'd give anything.

John Egbert, pronounced dead at 11:04 AM at Valley Hospital. The date was January 19th.  He weighed less than 90 pounds. At six-foot-one, that wasn't possible. His body shut down. As the life left his blood, so did yours. You walked through each day on autopilot, shoving off worried friends and family members.

Too much of your time was spent at his grave, curled up against the headstone with the bed of flowers you'd brought him. The ground you laid your head against was stained with tears. The life force drained out of you all too quickly. Less than a month had passed.

It felt like years.

Today was February 3rd. Your weight matched his to a tee. Blood red eyes cl osed for the last time underneath your favorite tree. It was the first place you'd kissed him. It was the first place he'd told you he loved you. It was the place where you told Rose about him. What better place to end your life than right here, where everything happened?

Crimson blood flowed from two long red stripes down your forearms. In your pocket was the last love letter he'd  written you, and the reply that he'd never gotten to read. 

Dawn's light streamed through green leaves as the light began to leave your eyes. Blood pooled underneath your knuckles before soaking into the soil.

_ Je  t'aime , John. I'll see you soon. _

One, two, three  breaths. Dave Strider, found dead at 11:03 AM. February 3rd.


End file.
